


Decepticon pleasure slaves - Skywarp/Jazz - G1

by Anonmemeproject



Series: Transformers Anon Kink Meme - non sticky fills [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Incomplete, M/M, Other, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-29 00:03:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21400852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonmemeproject/pseuds/Anonmemeproject
Summary: Fic: Decepticon pleasure slaves - Skywarp/Jazz - G1By AnonymousPublished: July 15 2009Prompt: I have read a few fanfics where the Decepticons have won the war and made the Autobots their pleasure slaves. But I would like to read a fanfic where the Autobots won and made the Decepticons their pleasure slaves.The bunny is that the Autobots on Cybertron have killed all Decepticons under the command of Shockwave and send troops to earth to defeat Megatron. But then they find Data in Shockwaves computer about what started the war in the first place – that the senate of Cybertron never thought about the miner and seeker and all the other workers. That they were poor and had not enough energon. The Autobots are ashamed of that. But now the Decepticons are mostly dead (including Megatron) and the few survivors of the Decepticons are prisoners. Because of their war crimes the Autobots can’t let them go, they are still too dangerous. So they make the decision that the Decepticon survivors will be slaves to the Autobots. Optimus Prime as holder of the Matrix shall be the ruler of Cybertron and he can have the first choice of a slave. And then the Autobots under his direct command can choose.
Relationships: Skywarp/jazz
Series: Transformers Anon Kink Meme - non sticky fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542844
Kudos: 13





	Decepticon pleasure slaves - Skywarp/Jazz - G1

**Author's Note:**

> Link to prompt: http://community.livejournal.com/tfanonkink/491.html?thread=220651#t220651. 
> 
> Fill found: https://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/1174.html?thread=352662#t352662
> 
> Author's note: Apologies if this will turn out to be nothing like what the OP was hoping for (I have a feeling it might since I interpreted the prompt rather liberally), but perhaps someone might enjoy it anyway.  
Prompt in short: I would like to read a fanfic where the Autobots won and made the Decepticons their pleasure slaves.
> 
> THIS WORK WAS NOT COMPLETED

Skywarp threw the black and white mech sitting halfway across the room an angry glare. His master. The word angered him, like merely thinking it was an ugly rust stain in his processor. The Autobot didn’t seem to care though; if he noticed the steely, hateful glare, he didn’t show it. Instead, he only continued to move his head in that nonchalant, rhythmic way that Skywarp had come to learn meant that the mech was listening to some music or the other over his private comm-link. 

Skywarp’s focus – or at least his optics – went back to the data pad in his hands, watching as his fingers tightened their hold around its frame in pent-up anger. The crushing defeat his faction had suffered still stung, but it was nothing compared to the utter, abject humiliation of his current situation. 

As he and his surviving comrades had been herded together by the victors after the smoke of that final, fateful battle had settled, he had expected one of two things – either a mock trial followed by a summary execution, or having the Autobots dump his sorry chassis in a dank cell and then throw the key into the smelting pools. He had, however, not been prepared for the fate the details of which that burly Autobot guard had informed the captives about a few days later, his glee ill hidden. The shock on his comrades’ faceplates had mimicked the way Skywarp had felt at those damning words, unable to believe his own audio receptors. Becoming slaves to the Autobots? 

But it had been all too true, and a couple of days later the first Autobots had started coming, only to leave shortly after with a collared Decepticon in tow. Some of his comrades went quietly, too shocked or dejected to protest, while others didn’t. Judging by the quick proceedings, which Decepticon should go to which Autobot had been settled upon beforehand, and the Autobots only came to pick up their already allocated slaves. 

Skywarp had watched in disgust as once proud Decepticon soldiers and warriors were led off, one by one, to a life in servitude and degradation and Primus knew what else. Occasionally, his temper did get the better off him and he lashed out, treating the visiting Autobots to some of the more colourful insults and curses in his vocabulary, which had only resulted in a sound beating or an unfriendly encounter with the guards’ shocksticks. He knew it was futile, pointless, and it earned him nothing but pain aside from the small sense of satisfaction that came with hurling verbal abuse at his captors, but what else could he do? At least it was a distraction from the agonizing wait for the ’Bot that he knew must have claimed him, whenever that mech would deign to show his faceplates in here. 

He wasn’t sure what was worse – restlessly waiting in this pit of a prison holding for his master-to-be, or having the mech in question finally come here to haul him off to a life as Autobot fragging property. The wait was unbearable, and getting more so as his comrades’ numbers dwindled. 

With his circuitry so high-strung, it was no surprise that Skywarp couldn’t stop a particularly vicious thread of insults from leaving his vocalizer the next time an Autobot came to claim his slave. The bright light suddenly spilling forth from the door as it opened to admit the visitor half-blinded him and so he couldn’t tell the identity of the ‘Bot, but judging by the quick and harsh reaction of the guard to his little outburst, it must have been a high-ranking officer. A foot connected with his chassis, hard, and Skywarp doubled over, grunting in pain. 

”Watch your mouth, filthy ’Con!” the guard hissed menacingly, obviously displeased at having one of the prisoners acting up in front of the Autobot officer. The remaining Decepticons slowly scooted back, unwilling to get involved in what was about to unfold. 

The Seeker, slowly gathering himself together on the ground, responded in turn. ”Frag you to the Pit, you ugly glitch,” he wheezed back, already knowing it was going to cost him. But he refused to back down in the presence of this high-ranking Autobot officer who had just entered; oh no, he’d show this high-and-mighty slagger that there was still at least one proud Decepticon left whose spirit couldn’t be broken by a sorry heap of Autobots. They might have won the war, but he’d still stand up to them, for whatever it was worth. 

Unsurprisingly, the guard kicked out again, the impact making Skywarp sprawl ungracefully on his back. An astrosecond later, the Autobot was resting his foot on the Seeker’s cockpit and pressing down, putting cracks in the yellow glass. He dug his shockstick into an unprotected joint in Skywarp’s shoulder, grinding it into the circuitry. ”Apologize.” 

”Slag you,” came the stubborn response, though it was laden with pain and static. 

The guard only smirked as he turned the setting on the shockstick up, making his victim writher. But Skywarp refused to back down, even as his circuitry began to crackle ominously and a ragged howl of pain escaped his vocalizer; he’d show these two Autobots that he couldn’t be broken no matter what. He desperately clung to this stubborn determination, willing himself to hold out; if he temporarily off-lined before the guard could break him he would have won. It would be a small victory, but a victory nonetheless, and that was all that mattered right now. Body racked by convulsions, he grinded his teeth, silently praying for the relieving nothingness that the looming off-lining would bring. 

Then, suddenly, the excruciating sting of the shockstick was gone, and Skywarp on-lined his optics in confusion. Surely the guard wasn’t giving up already? 

He met with a highly unexpected sight. The Autobot officer was holding the guard’s arm in a resolute grip, pulling him away from Skywarp. 

”I believe that’s quite enough.” The voice was smooth and musical, but held an undercurrent of something unpleasant. ”Leave him alone.” 

The guard looked like he wanted to protest this interruption, but thought better of it. Instead, he fell into a sullen and displeased silence; the other mech’s higher rank enough to dispel any objections. ”Very well, sir,” he muttered, taking a step back and subspacing the shockstick. 

Skywarp could only gawk as the little scene played out in front of him, mortified. He’d been... rescued, for lack of a better word, by a fragging Autobot? This was embarrassing beyond belief. He couldn’t remember having been so profoundly insulted in his entire life. Who did this Autobot think he was, acting like Skywarp was some pathetic weakling that needed his disgusting pity? Unbelievable. Why couldn’t he simply have let him off-line with at least some of his dignity intact, instead of robbing him of the remaining vestiges of his pride like this? 

He wanted to throw the Autobot a few well-rounded curses, but his vocalizer was still recalibrating itself from the powerful electric shocks and so refused to obey him. In fact, most of his systems were still unresponsive, leaving him unable to do much but slump dejectedly on the floor, a hot flush of shame igniting his circuitry. How could he ever have been reduced to this? 

The Autobot’s voice still held an icy notch as he addressed the guard. He held out his hand, fingers clasping some sort of document. ”My claim, as approved by the Autobot High Council.” His gaze went to Skywarp. ”I believe this Seeker belongs to me.” 

Oh frag no... 

Air vents heaving, Skywarp managed to raise his head to get a better look at the officer’s face. His optics had finally adapted to the sharp, sudden light, after having grown used to the dimness he had been kept in for the better part since his capture, and so, the facial features of the Autobot left him in no doubt as to this mech’s identity. 

Jazz. The insufferable, profoundly annoying third in command of the Autobot army. 

Primus must really hate him. 

Skywarp hoped the glare that he fixed the black and white mech with would burn a smoldering hole through his chassis. At least it would serve to wipe some of the ever-present, oh-so-grating smugness from Jazz’s faceplates, as if nothing in the world could ever faze him. 

And the mech just sat there, brimming with his usual self-satisfaction and nonchalance, from the looks of it playing some silly human computer game while listening to his worthless music, while Skywarp was sitting over here performing the menial tasks of de-bugging and de-fragmentizing some old archive files. Jazz’s tasks. 

How humiliating. 

Automatically, his hand went up to his neck, for what time in a row he couldn’t remember, tugging at the collar that had been placed on him by one of the prison guards right before Jazz had taken him away. He’d worn it ever since. Like he was a fragging pet or something; Skywarp’s lips parted in an ugly grimace at the thought. 

But the collar served a more important function than merely marking him as property. It had been synchronized with and hooked up to his motor circuitry, so that his master could, by simply sending a command over the right frequency, make all his motor functions freeze up, leaving Skywarp unable to move at all until a counter-command was given. That was not all, though; a connection had also in similar fashion been made to his pain receptors to ascertain the slave’s good behaviour. 

It was standard procedure for all slaves, and he’d seen several of his comrades suffer the ugly results of these modifications as they had violently protested the fate that was in store for them once their masters were about to lead them away. 

Skywarp’s optics narrowed in disgust and anger as his processor was flooded with the scenes that had played themselves out in the prison holding. So typical of the Autobots, resorting to cowardly, underhanded measures like that to keep their conquered enemies in check. 

So far, though, Jazz had only used the collar for rendering his slave temporarily paralyzed whenever Skywarp had staged his stubborn, though futile little rebellions. This angered him too – like he was some sort of weakling, inherently unable to handle pain. Skywarp wasn’t afraid of pain; he’d been a frontline soldier for far too long for that. But no matter how much Skywarp had provoked his master, Jazz had not resorted to invoking the more unpleasant functions of the collar. And that annoyed Skywarp – that for all his insults and disobedience, he wasn’t able to get even that much of a rise out of the saboteur, pathetically unable to ruffle his feathers enough to render himself some punishment worth the name, no matter how much he tried. 

Sometimes he felt more like a petulant human child than anything else. If Jazz had wanted revenge for the war and all that the Decepticon faction had done, and taken all his pent-up frustration and anger out on his slave, Skywarp could have dealt with that. It would have been expected, the natural way of things. But instead he was being as good as ignored, as if the war had never happened, made to perform the more boring parts of Jazz’s duties, like he wasn’t even worth the effort to meet out some vengeance. 

Skywarp hated it. 

Ire rising inside of him, he suddenly flung the data pad from his hand with full force, hoping to hit the smug saboteur who was sitting there expecting Skywarp to do his job for him. It missed with a hand’s breath, and clanged dully as it hit the far wall. 

Jazz looked up, optic ridges slightly raised as he turned his visored gaze towards his fuming slave. 

”Anything the matter, Skywarp?” he said, voice not devoid of its usual smoothness despite the fact that his slave had just tried to fling a data pad at his head. Perhaps there was the slightest hint of annoyance as well this time? Skywarp wasn’t sure, but he hoped so. 

”Yeah,” Skywarp said, making an effort to keep the bitterness out of his voice as to mimic the nonchalant uncaring of the other mech, while trying to infuse his words with a sufficient amount of sarcasm. ”How about you actually do your own work for once, huh, the work that your superiors no doubt assigned you?” He gave the data pad on the floor a pointed glare, hearing full well how immature and childish he sounded, but not particularly caring. If he could just get a rise out of this Autobot, even once, he didn’t care how ridiculous he sounded in the process. 

”And I’ve assigned it to you in turn. Like I said, make sure it’s finished in two joors.” With that, Jazz picked up the data pad and, unperturbed as ever, threw it back to Skywarp, who automatically caught it. He then made as if to turn his attention back to his computer game, but was stopped by Skywarp’s next words. 

”And what if I refuse?” 

Jazz’s cool gaze rested on the Seeker for a few astroseconds before he responded. ”Well, do you?” 

He knew it was stupid and pointless, would of course achieve nothing, but he couldn’t stop the vitriol-filled harangue from pouring forth from his vocalizer. ”You Autobots are a pathetic bunch,” Skywarp spat, ignoring Jazz’s questions. ”Weak and pitiful. So afraid of us that you have to keep us collared because you wouldn’t stand a chance of holding us otherwise! I’d love to see even one of you take on a Decepticon one-on-one in a fair fight – oh, but of course, none of you would have the backstruts. And you dare calling yourselves our masters? You’d never be able to hold your own in a fair fight against a true Decepticon warrior, and you know it!” 

Silence met his little outburst. Jazz’s visor seemed to flicker for a moment, but perhaps Skywarp had only imagined it. 

”Very well,” the saboteur finally said, his voice a notch lower than usual. ”Let’s make a deal then. We fight. One on one. If I win, you’ll do the task I assigned you without complaining; if you win, I’ll do the task myself. Alright?” 

Skywarp’s optics widened. He had not expected... that. But of course, the offer was meaningless in the end. ”Yeah, I’m sure it will be a fair fight when you can make use of the collar anytime to win,” he sneered, unimpressed. 

”It will be a fair fight,” Jazz said, shrugging. ”I won’t use the collar. And if I do, it’s your win.” 

Was the saboteur joking, playing stupid games with him? Because surely, he couldn’t be serious? One look at Jazz’s faceplates was enough for Skywarp to confirm his sincerity, though; the mech truly did mean what he was saying. 

A thrill of excitement rushed over Skywarp’s circuitry; he’d never imagined that the saboteur would agree to something like this, to say nothing of actually suggesting it himself. But the offer had been made, and there was no way Skywarp would ever back down; he’d show this arrogant Autobot who was the superior fighter. And then some. 

He gave the saboteur an ugly smirk, cracking his knuckles. ”You’re on.”


End file.
